Mask
by Ros3bud009
Summary: "It's silly. I can wait," he replied, raising a hand to brush his fingers along Turkey's knuckles. Egypt noted the way that Turkey's eyes narrowed as if he was furrowing his brows in confusion. Egypt missed those brows.


"Whoa, you mean even _you_ haven't seen his face under the mask?" America asked, staring at Egypt in shock and surprise. The small nation simply shrugged as he continued to look through the paperwork that the American had brought him.

"I have seen it."

"Then why did you say you didn't know what he looked like under it?"

Egypt sighed and glanced up at the curious boy of a nation who looked as if he was going to die of curiosity. It reminded him of when Turkey was young.

Perhaps that was why he answered the question. "It has been a long time since I have seen him without his mask."

"How long?"

"Before I left his empire."

"…Whiiiich was how long ago?" Egypt couldn't help smiling a bit; the boy was nothing but a fount of questions. It was endearing in a way, even if his ignorance was sometimes staggering.

"Over one hundred years ago."

"No way!" America cried, jumping to his feet and sending his chair toppling behind him. A rather exaggerated reaction, Egypt thought, but then again, when was the boy not over the top? Egypt for his part stayed seated. "But that's… I mean, that's crazy! I thought you guys were close and stuff, ya know?"

Egypt bowed his head to look through the paperwork again, even if he was not truly taking in the words on them. The sentiment behind the American's shock struck an uncomfortable chord in his chest. When he spoke, it was said evenly; "We are close. But we did not see each other for some time after I left, and then he was busy with his empire. We are…" – he paused, not sure how he could describe it – "We are… getting to know each other again."

"Soooo you're dating," America clarified, all his horror replaced with an easy laugh as he placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward, grinning.

Egypt, for his part, knew he must have looked like he had taken some of the American's dispelled horror due to his choice of words. "I… I don't think that would be an accurate description."

"How come?" America pressed, leaning further over the desk and looking Egypt in the eye. He had always been a persistent one. "I mean, as I hear it, you and Turkey were together when he was big bad Ottoman, right? But then you broke up and went your own ways, and only now are you finally testing out the waters again. So you're dating again! Pretty easy to figure that much out."

"America, you are making assumptions," Egypt pointed out, even as he leaned his head against his hand, trying to hide the very like pink blush showing on his tanned skin. Luckily, he knew that America was likely to be too oblivious to notice it.

America just shrugged and twisted his body so he was sitting on Egypt's desk. "Oh come on, everyone knows that you and Turkey have been, well, _you know_," he said in that obnoxiously and overly exaggerated way of his, winking and nudging Egypt. "And you're just not the type to do that with just anyone! So you've got to be dating. Stop trying to deny it!"

Egypt sighed and said, "There are still assumptions there."

"Fine. You and Turkey hang out, right?"

"If you want to put it that way."

"And you and Turkey are getting it on, right?"

Egypt's let out a rather shameful squeak at that. Despite his luck, America correctly took that as a yes.

"And you wouldn't ever just be casual fuck buddies with anyone, thus, Turkey is special to you, thus, you guys are going out, thus… Seriously how the hell have you not seen him without his mask on?" America cried out, seeming to remember how the whole conversation had started.

The embarrassment that Egypt felt was slowly flooded out by uncertainty. He shook his head as he sat up straight again and flipped open a new folder on his desk. "I just have not. He has not taken it off around me, and when I reach for it he moves away."

"Moves away?"

"Yes." Egypt worked hard to contain his sigh, not wanting to indicate the fact that he had worried over the subject himself.

America blinked at him, gapping, before he asked incredulously, "And you just let him? You don't ask why or tell him to take it off or rip it off his face?"

Egypt shook his head. "No. That is not my place."

"But you're his boyfriend!"

"I will give him time-"

"But don't you want to know _why_ he won't let you now, even though you got to before?" America insisted, grabbing the folders in front of Egypt and shoving them to one side. "Come on, Egypt, it's got to be weird that you can be together and even fuck, but he won't let you see the upper half of his face anymore!"

Egypt opened his mouth to argue, but found he had nothing to say. What could he say when the boy was asking the questions that he had been trying to not ask himself?

So he simply reached for the paperwork again.

America bristled. No doubt, Egypt mused, he didn't want the conversation to end just as he was about to win.

But one look told the boy that it was over, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

><p>A week later, Egypt led Turkey into his home, and as much as he wished he could simply enjoy being with him, the questions loomed heavy in his mind. Egypt found he was holding a grudge against the mask separating him from Turkey. It was exceedingly ridiculous, but it was there, and he knew it wouldn't leave soon.<p>

"Jeez, it's really nice to get out of Europe," Turkey stated as he made himself comfortable, all but falling onto Egypt's couch with an easy smile. The large jacket he had taken to wearing casually was pulled up and off over his head. Still, Egypt noticed, the mask stayed in place. "They're all a bunch of crazies, all of them. Sometimes I can't even remember why I'm trying to join up with them."

Egypt hummed in agreement and, instead of joining Turkey, headed towards the kitchen to get them both something to drink.

As soon as he was by the counter getting down glasses, however, strong arms wrapped around his middle and chapped lips brushed against his neck.

"Hey. What's up?" Turkey asked in that warm tone that made Egypt want to melt against him. The touch of a mask instead of the Turk's own cheekbone was all that kept him from doing just that.

"Nothing," Egypt replied flatly, reaching up to grab some cups.

Turkey's arms tightened around him. "Sure? Cause you seem weird today."

"How so?"

"Well, you're not smiling for one," Turkey pointed out, lifting a hand to turn Egypt's face towards his. "Not to mention you seem distant."

"Most people think I seem distant."

"Cause they don't know you like I do," Turkey insisted. "This isn't just you being quiet. So come on, what's up?"

Egypt shook his head and sighed, placing the glasses down. "It's silly. I can wait," he replied, raising a hand to brush his fingers along Turkey's knuckles. Egypt noted the way that Turkey's eyes narrowed as if he was furrowing his brows in confusion. Egypt missed those brows.

"Wait? Wait for what?" Egypt pulled the arms off from around his waist and headed towards the refrigerator. Turkey was quick behind him though, ever persistent. "What are you waiting for? You know I'm ready to fully commit to this as soon as you are, so what-"

Egypt turned to look at Turkey, his gaze stopping the words in their tracks. A pause, an anxious thump of his heart, and the smaller nation dared to reach up towards the other's mask.

Turkey flinched and Egypt's heart sank. The ensuing realization of what he wanted, of what he was waiting for, left Turkey looking conflicted with whatever had kept his mask on for so long. That told Egypt what he needed to know. He let his hand fall back to his side. "It's alright. I can wait," Egypt murmured around the hurt that was building in his chest. "Go sit while I-"

Turkey grabbed him by the arm, putting up his other hand to indicate that Egypt should just wait while he gathered his thoughts.

"Egypt… It's… it's stupid, really," Turkey assured him, trying to smile casually. The way he shifted from one foot to the other indicated to Egypt that Turkey didn't personally feel it was stupid. "It's nothing like before where it was trying to be all mysterious or hiding my younger face or any of that shit. It's just…" He trailed off and closed his eyes, trying to find the words to express himself. Egypt waited silently, giving the man all the time he needed.

Finally Turkey just threw up his hands. "You know what, fuck it," he swore. His fingers were up by his face, running along the edges of the mask and the thin ribbon that kept it tied around his head. "I hate words, I'll just go for broke and take it off-"

Egypt didn't realize what he was doing until his hands were around Turkey's wrists, effectively stilling them. When Turkey looked at him in confusion, he simply murmured, "May I?"

Turkey swallowed hard but nodded. Instead of doing it there, however, Egypt led the other to sit down in one of the chairs by the kitchen table. Once he was seated, Egypt paused to gather his courage before straddling Turkey's lap, his hands soft and reassuring along the Turk's jaw line.

The scene he found himself in seemed to amuse Turkey enough that a smile tugged at his lips. "You're pretty serious about this, huh?"

Egypt nodded as he slipped one hand around to undo the ribbon keeping the mask against Turkey's face. "Because you are."

Hands wrapped around Egypt's neck, cupping him by the back of the head and pulling him down for a kiss. Egypt allowed Turkey to kiss him as he pleased, to express the gratitude and understanding the Turk had for his almost boyfriend, almost lover, as soon as Egypt felt comfortable jumping into such a relationship again—

Egypt nearly forgot about the mask completely, his fingers fixing themselves into Turkey's hair as he kissed him in return, drowning in Turkey's unabashed affection. It was only when Egypt's finger caught on the tie hidden in the Turk's thick hair that he recalled his duty.

He pulled back from the kiss and slipped the two ends of the ribbon from their knot. All that was left was to remove the mask and see the face Egypt had been missing for over a hundred years.

Turkey's hand wrapped around his wrist as Egypt's fingers clutched at the edges of the mask. There was a pause as Egypt waited. If Turkey asked him to wait, he would do so, as much as it hurt.

More than his face, what Egypt longed for was the trust that came from being allowed to see it. That, Egypt knew, could only be given.

With a deep breath, Turkey dropped his hand back down to rest on Egypt's thigh and smiled at him weakly. "Well, come on already, then. Don't keep a guy waiting."

For all the time and effort spent up until that moment, the actual removal of the mask was over in seconds. Egypt openly stared at Turkey's face. For whatever reason, he had suspected that there was nothing there to hide, but that it was emotional attachments to Turkey's old persona as the Ottoman Empire that kept the mask on his face. What he found under the mask though was something he had never seen before.

It was a scar. There, across Turkey's face, was a deep scar that crossed from the top right of his forehead down across the middle and over the bridge of his nose to end just under his left eye. It was difficult to see past the scar, but there was more that Egypt could see. There were wrinkles that hadn't been on the young face he once knew; deep ones between his brows, further deepened by the scar, along with crowfeet by each eye.

The face Egypt found under the mask wasn't a young man trying to act older, or a grown man trying to cling to times past. It was the face of a nation that had gone through change and hardship and war and so much death.

Egypt set the mask down and moved his hands back up to Turkey's face, cradling his cheeks in his palms. Fingers curled and loosened against his thigh, but otherwise the Turk made no move under him. Turkey was waiting for a response one way or the other – disgust at how he had changed, or disinterest and disbelief that he had cared so deeply to hide it.

Instead, Egypt ran his thumbs over the wrinkles by his eyes, learning their shape and depth, feeling them for himself. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and lightly pressed a kiss to the top of the long scar. Centimeter by centimeter, Egypt touched and felt and mapped out every dip and bump of the scar with his lips.

By the time he reached the bottom of the scar, just above the apples of Turkey's cheeks, he could feel the heat that was building in the Turk's face seeping into his lips. The man was flushed from a confusing mix of emotions that were difficult to differentiate from one another. It only made Egypt smile as he pressed two more kisses to Turkey's face: one to each corner of his eyes.

"You have changed," Egypt murmured, unable to stop moving his palms and thumbs along Turkey's face.

"Yeah." Turkey shifted in the chair a bit. "Got old and disfigured. Sorry 'bout that."

Egypt frowned and, for good measure, pinched Turkey's cheeks. "I did not mean it in a negative way," he stated, only releasing the Turk's cheeks when the man started to wince. "When did you get the scar?"

"Baltic wars."

"Which one?"

"First." Turkey sighed and his brows furrowed, leaving no mistake as to how such deep wrinkles formed there. "Metal shrapnel right into the middle of my face. I was out for at least a month because of that."

Egypt nodded as he ran his thumbs along the others brow. "I hear that brain damage takes longer to recover from for us than other injuries."

If Turkey had a response to that, it was left unspoken as he shut his eyes. His brows were furrowing deeper. "I hate you seeing me look like this."

"Why?" Egypt ran a finger along the scar. Already he was growing to know this face as well as the face he had known over a hundred years prior; to know it and to love it.

"Cause I look like shit," was Turkey's simple reply. "I look old and tired and disfigured. But that's not really me. I don't want to be some old geezer who's all beat up and looks like he's gonna kick the bucket at any second."

It all pieced itself together in his mind at that moment. The mask, the need to hide these signs of war and stress and the appearance of aging—it all came down to one thing. Egypt could not help smiling and kissing Turkey's forehead, his scar, and his worry lines as he stated, "Turkey, you are not Rome."

Turkey frowned and grumbled, "But I'm old."

"I am older."

"But I have wrinkles."

"They are not any worse than most nations'."

"I have a huge scar on my face."

"And I have my own fair share of scars, even if they are not on my face."

Turkey looked his straight in the eye and stated, "I'm the old, wrinkled, and scarred remains of a fallen empire. How the hell am I _not_ like him?" The words behind that statement – how am I not pitiable, pathetic, ready to disappear at any moment without an empire to support his life – went unspoken, but Egypt read them in those golden eyes of his.

"Because you did not fall with your empire. You and your people are still here." His fingers finally released Turkey's face to slip into his hair, curling into it and cradling the Turk's head. Egypt's lips found Turkey's, kissing him slowly and deeply.

When they parted, Egypt mumbled quietly against the other's mouth. However, his words were so quiet that Turkey murmured, "Hm? What?"

Egypt stilled and repeated, albeit more bashfully the second time around, "You're here with me."

Turkey grinned and wrapped his arms around the smaller man's back. "That's true. And you don't even seem to be too repulsed by how I look, so what more could I ask for?"

"I like your face," Egypt insisted, unable to stop himself from frowning as he touched the scar again. "It is different, but I like it. There is nothing to be repulsed by." Turkey smiled warmly, and finally appeared to be at ease with the attention paid to his face where the mask would normally be.

"Does this mean I am this much closer to having you as my lover again?" the Turk asked. Egypt knew that even his tanned skin could not hide the blush rising up on his face. There were no words coming to mind, so he settled for nodding.

When Turkey smiled and laughed with joy, his brows relaxed and his eyes crinkled at the edges, and Egypt could not help the way his chest ached with affection at the sight.


End file.
